Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Cheap
by Joe Dirt
Summary: VICE CITY FICLET - A Day In The Life Of One Particular Vice City Hitman.


Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Cheap The Story of a Vice City Assassin By Joe Dirt  
  
DISCLAIMER: You know I don't own Rockstar. INSPIRATION: AC/DC – "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap", off of the album "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap", 1981  
  
It was a very hot and humid day in Vice City. The trees swayed in the light breeze as tired and hot pedestrians were moving and being baked by the Sun's unforgiving rays. Matthew Pearce, as known on the streets as "TNT", was one of those pedestrians.  
  
He was walking slowly, clutching a half-empty bottle of Zephyrhills Spring Water, down the long stretch of Biscayne Boulevard through Little Haiti. He stopped under the Leaf Links Bridge and cooled off for a second, along with a group of others. A homeless man was talking to a cop, also tired and drinking a cold Starbucks Mocha Cappuccino.  
  
"It hasn't been hot like this in years!" the homeless man said. "I hear the Ozone Layer is being baked thanks to all that new construction down near VicePort. If it stays like that, Vice City will fry like bacon in a pan..."  
  
Matthew chugged his water, and continued walking. The truth behind this, it was an act. He was Matthew "TNT" Pearce, assassin-by-hire, former Navy SEAL. He wasn't hot, or tired. He had some business to take care of at the Ryton Aid, just another block from here. He was acting like this to not draw suspicion. He crossed the street and walked slowly until he was in front of the Ryton Aid. He put on a pair of sunglasses, and walked inside.  
  
"Hello, Sir. How may I help you?" a rather cheery pharmacist said. His nametag read "Jim Thorpe". He was assigned to kill Jim Thorpe. "Yes, I came here to pick up a subscription, from Dr. Menlo in Little Havana." Matthew stated and forked over an RX Card, asking for painkillers. Jim scanned the card. "Yes, sir. We got a call from them. One moment." Jim turned his back and looked for the pills on the large wall of prescription drugs behind him. Matthew, then, grabbed two TEC-9 Semi- Automatic machine guns from his pocket, and aimed at Jim.  
  
Jim found the pills, turned around, then stopped at the sight of the man holding the weapons. "Here's from a friend, BITCH!"  
  
He pulled the triggers of the weapons, sending bullets straight into Jim's frail body. Jim was thrown back into the wall of prescriptions, limp. Blood was on the wall and counter, and started to pour out of his skinny body onto the Linoleum floors.  
  
The patrons inside the pharmacy screamed in agonizing horror. Several hid behind counters, and the rest dashed outside. Outside, screaming was heard. Jim lay dead on the floor, blood pooling around him.  
  
Matthew, still holding the TEC-9s, fired the weapons at a security camera. The camera was mortified, raining sparks on the body of the dead pharmacist.  
  
Jim pocketed his weapons, walked out slowly, and went behind the Ryton Aid. He kept on walking into the ghettos of Little Haiti. Police Sirens wailed in the distance. He spotted a Haitian gang member's car; a '59 Chevrolet Impala nicknamed 'Voodoo', empty. He tried the door, and simple enough, it was unlocked. Matt went under to the wiring of the car, hotwired it, and started driving. He stopped at the street on the right-hand side of the Leaf Links Bridge. Vice City Police Cruisers were zooming down the road, stopping at the Ryton Aid. Matt made a right, accelerated, and drove right past the Ryton Aid where police were starting to set up a perimeter.  
  
20 Minutes later, he arrived outside the Bunch Of Tools in Washington Beach, where a white Lamborghini Diablo, nicknamed 'Infernus', was waiting. Matthew got out of the hotwired Impala and a man got out of the Diablo. The man was Thomas Vercetti.  
  
"You did well, kid. I'll have to call you again sometime." Tommy said, handing him a silver briefcase. "Here's your pay. Enjoy it well; it's yours to keep. You earned it!" Tommy emerged back into the Diablo, and sped onto Alton Avenue, and towards Starfish Island. Matt peeked in his briefcase, where it held $75,000. Brand new 100-Dollar Bills, Sequential.  
  
"WHOO-HOO! PAY DAY!" Matt shouted. A passing motorist looked at him strangely.  
  
Later that night, he saw his "work of art", heresy, on the 11:00 VCN News. That's how a successful job always works. 


End file.
